The Rambaldi Institute for Alias Fanfiction
by terra-incognito
Summary: Even Milo Rambaldi couldn't have predicted the amount of bad Alias fic that would swamp the net and threaten everything canon. So RIAF was created. Where bad writers become good writers, or else. (A Miss Cam approved OFU.)


Disclaimer: All the Alias kids belong to JJ Abrams. The idea for OFU belongs to the brilliant Miss Cam. Everything else is mine. Cripes.  
  
Note: Everyone is welcome to join RIAF, just email me your enrollment form (the one included in this chapter) to terra_incognito71@yahoo.com. If possible, include a sample of your writing.  
  
___________________________________________________________________________  
  
Hannah Cooper was a normal high school student. She had brown hair and blue eyes, she had freckles that she hated, a zit on her chin, a calculus test in 9 hours and a soccer game that weekend.  
  
But Hannah also had a secret life. A life that neither her friends nor family knew about.  
  
Hannah was a fanwriter.  
  
She spent her nights writing and reading fanfiction of the 'Alias' persuasion. Her favorite pairing was Sark/Sydney, but she had a growing appreciation for Sark/Vaughn. In fact, Hannah had just finished writing her first ever slash piece and submitted it to fanfiction.net.  
  
Yawning, Hannah shut down her computer, her eyes flicking over to the clock next to her bed. It was almost 12:30. With another yawn, she stood, the muscles in her thighs protesting strenuously after sitting for so long. Her fingers were cramped and her eyes felt dry and itchy, but she was satisfied that she'd done good work.  
  
After all, who didn't occasionally imagine what would happen if Sark and Vaughn got kidnaped and locked in a room together for a long period of time? She wondered briefly if perhaps she should have given more plot development, but she'd been too busy with the dialogue and having the two tend to each other's wounds.  
  
Hannah stumbled over to her bed, fully intending to fall into bed with her clothes on and sleep until the last possible second. She pulled back the covers and was about to collapse when she heard something.  
  
The doorbell.  
  
"Can't be." She muttered drowsily. Who would be ringing her doorbell at this hour?  
  
Resolving that it had been a figment of her weary imagination, she crawled into bed. pulling her comforter snugly over her shoulders.  
  
The doorbell rang again. Hannah ignored it, pulling her pillow over her head.  
  
But the ringing continued. Someone was definitely there, and they weren't going away.  
  
"Can't. Be. Happening." The brunette moaned disbelievingly as she dragged herself out of bed. She forgot to wonder why no one else in the house had woken, and stumbled down the stairs grumbling quietly. She slouched through the living room, stubbed her toe on the coffee table, and made it to the front door, which she wrenched open, ready to kill the person who stood on the doorstep, whoever they were.  
  
'They' was a pizza delivery man. She stared.  
  
"Evening, ma'am." He smiled. He looked almost as tired as she did.  
  
"I didn't order a pizza." Hannah gritted. "And it's actually morning, did you know?"  
  
"Oh, sorry." He didn't look sorry at all. "Here's your pizza." He shoved the rectangular white box in her arms. She stared at him for a moment. "You look...kind of familiar."  
  
He smiled wryly. "Eat that before it gets cold." Then he vanished.  
  
Hannah continued staring at the place where he had been for a full five minutes. Perhaps she was dreaming? Perhaps she had imagined the whole thing?  
  
"Cripes." She muttered, slamming the door shut. She glanced down at the box she was still holding. IT looked like any other pizza box, white, with to words printed on it in red block letters: Joey's Pizza.  
  
She wandered back into the living room, setting the box on the coffee table. It looked innocent enough. She poked it gently and nothing happened, so she cautiously lifted the lid. The fanwriter wasn't sure what she expected to find (though she hoped it was a double pepperoni deep dish), but it wasn't an envelope with her name printed neatly on the front.  
  
Feeling shaken, she lowered herself onto the couch and picked up the envelope. She hesitated, then ran a fingernail under the seal. Inside the envelope there were several sheets of paper, all printed in the same neat script. The first page was a letter:  
  
Dear Miss Cooper,  
It has come to the attention of several high-ranking officials that for almost 3 years now a large number of people, sometimes identified as 'fanwriters' have been churning out degrading, dumb, pointless, and generally bad stories about a few select employees of the United States Government, the KGB, and other intelligence agencies affiliated with them, personally and professionally. Thus, we have created Special Ops Branch 47, whose mission it is to educate these poor, misguided individuals. You, Miss Cooper, are one of those individuals. You have committed no less than 103 crimes against canon and are therefore required by Directive 2547 to attend the Rambaldi Institute for Alias Fanfiction. If you fail to enroll, and continue to write badfic, the consequences will be serious. You will find the enrollment form attached to this letter.  
  
Yours Sincerely,  
Miss Terra , RIAF coordinator  
  
Hannah blinked. RIAF? Perhaps she had fallen asleep at the computer? She frowned and read the letter again. Her fiction was good! She thought angrily. She didn't need to go to a special school for fanfiction even if it did exist, which it didn't. Right?  
  
She set the letter aside to examine the other papers with it. They seemed to be an enrollment form, just like the letter said. She mentally catalogued everything she'd eaten that day, still reluctant to believe that any of this was real. Then again, the US Government violated constitutional rights every day, so maybe it wasn't really that preposterous. She looked back at the enrollment form and then glanced nervously at the letter. She didn't ant to find out what the consequences were for ignoring it, and anyway, she could always fill it out and then change her mind. Feeling slightly relieved to have made a decision, she grabbed a pen from the coffee table and started writing:  
  
Name: Hannah Cooper  
  
Alias (if applicable):  
  
Hannah paused and then wrote 'Coop' her pen name.  
  
Age:16 DOB: 10/19/87  
  
Occupation: Student  
  
Height: 5'7"  
  
Weight: 127 lbs.  
  
When did you start watching Alias? (Be episode specific if possible):  
  
Hannah thought hard and then wrote 'middle of season two'. She didn't remember which episode it had been, only that Vaughn and Sydney had made out. Or something. She'd been too busy watching Sark to pay attention to any of the other characters.  
  
What is the most recent episode of Alias you've seen?:  
  
She thought again before scribbling 'Prelude'. She thought that was right.  
  
What is your preferred 'ship?: Sark/Sydney  
  
If you could kill one character on Alias, who would it be, and why?:  
  
Hannah hesitated. These questions were getting really weird. Finally she wrote: 'Sloane. Because he's evil.' The next question was easier:  
  
Lust Object?: Vaughn/Syd/Sark/Other (specify)  
  
Why do you write Alias Fanfiction?:  
  
She smiled and wrote quickly 'Because Sark is totally hot and in lurve with Syd!'  
  
What is your favorite Season of Alias?:  
  
If given the chance, would you join the Magnific Order of Rambaldi?:  
  
How do you feel about the number 47?:  
  
Enrollment form successfully completed, Hannah set the paper back down on top of the pizza box, a heavy weariness overtaking her again. She let her head fall back on the pillows, closing her eyes. This was all too weird-- she would think about it tomorrow. Hannah sighed and sunk gratefully into the couch cushions, finally drifting off to sleep.  
  
She would be less grateful when she woke up. 


End file.
